


Everything's Confetti

by dancingonink



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, EWE, F/M, Fluff, Fred is dead, George Weasley is an ass, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, I genuinely have no fucking clue, I want to break them, I will potentially never finish this, Modern-ish, Mourning, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reconciliation, also im a dancer watch me make Eve like a ballet dancer or something, is there a tag for "I don't know what I'm doing", people want to be better, refuge after the war, slow burn probs, very angsty that's for sure, wizard boarding house
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingonink/pseuds/dancingonink
Summary: confetti looks a whole lot like ash when you hold it up to the light..x.Eve Hartley is struggling. That's a fact. She's 18, she's mourning the death of her brother and she needs to get her life back, even if she has to claw it out of the jaws of defeatGeorge Weasley is a wreck. The Burrow feels tiny, after losing the one boy who could make it feel like a stage. He needs to get out of there.
Relationships: George Weasley/OFC, George Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	Everything's Confetti

You could hear the music swirling and mingling with the crisp night air. It was approaching twilight, but the jubilation seeming to emanate from the stone walls was timeless. It’s just how these events were. Rosemary Hartley knew how to throw a party. 

Inside was a shower of clinking champagne glasses, laughter and conversation that had quickly veered away from polite small talk as the night drew on. Sweeping gowns the colours of jewels were not out of place here, nor were the type of dress shoes you might only expect to see at a wedding or on prom night. Tightly laced and polished within an inch of their lives, people wanted to fit in. And everybody did. Even Rosemary’s daughter Evelynn was enjoying herself, a rare sight in the times after the war. But being here, she just got to feel like a pretty girl, in a pretty dress, who didn’t watch her school crumble before her on her eighteenth birthday. Who didn’t see the flash of green light extinguish the life from her brother’s eyes. Who didn’t scream her throat red raw, and radiate such loss and grief that everything nearby had experienced the shockwave too. 

No.

Right now, Evelynn was just a pretty girl, in a pretty dress, laughing prettily as she danced around with a young man her mother had introduced her to. Her heart wasn’t in it though. That was rarely the case these days, she almost always felt as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for time to stop, as it had done then, and reawaken to find catastrophe all around. She hadn’t wanted this life, but neither had anybody else, they were merely dragged into it, forced to pick a side, get real about their politics and decide who they wanted to be, after being sheltered away, so safe and secure, their defining characteristics picked up on and acknowledged by a hat when they were 11. Everything had seemed so simple then. 

They were waltzing. She was quite good. Elegant and strong, her eyes never strayed to her feet, never nervous that she would be danced into another couple on the floor. Her partner was quite good too. He held her properly, without the awkward rigidity that comes from touching an unfamiliar girl in an unfamiliar area, and he waltzed her and spun her, laughed with her as she joked about the couples around her, about the almost comical scenes that high society creates. The rumours are true: men with ridiculous moustaches do laugh the loudest as they try to steer the conversation back to their self-started businesses; the groups of young girls do stand in groups and giggle over the rims of their champagne flutes, always looking like they know everybody’s secrets; and Evelynn Hartley looks damn good in a dress, even if she never really wears them anymore. 

The song was finishing, and the pair separated, still giggling, slightly drunk and feeling quite fizzy, as if they’d become the bubbles in the champagne. The boy was nice, and he was funny, someone she’d seen in the hallways of Hogwarts, but never spoken to. His name was Lee, and he bowed, a mockery of the gentlemen around him, sweeping so low that in his semi-drunken state she could’ve nudged him and he would’ve been quickly acquainted with the floor. She curtsied in response, arms out, head bowed, but there was no mistaking the mischievous glint in her eye, the only acknowledgement of his ridiculous gesture. That is, until she dissolved into more giggles as she registered the faces of the people around them. Slight distaste and bemusement - excellent. 

“Come on, let’s sit this next one out,” she said, offering him her arm, ever the chivalrous gentleman. He grinned and fluttered his eyelashes mockingly, and she batted his chest before they left the dance floor in search of more champagne. This was their 20s, well- almost, the recent history was a constant shadow at their backs, but god damnit if they weren’t going to try and enjoy themselves. They’d had lucky escapes once. Anything else seemed to be tempting fate, so they would live while they could. 

This was the unspoken agreement amongst those who had survived, those who had had to pick up the pieces of their lives scattered and falling all around them, like confetti - no, like ash. Dead, destructive and quite frankly, more depressing than the snow that it could’ve been mistaken for. Now, the people who had been left behind had made a concerted effort to stay undivided, even when they were not amongst their usual crowds. That’s why, when her mother had introduced her to Lee Jordan and his parents, she wasn’t surprised that he was here. High society had been crowded out, a thing of the past, Rosemary’s parties were rebellious acts of union and solidarity. He’d never attended before, but now everybody had been welcomed into the inner sanctum of the Hartley’s. It made a change to the Malfoys and the Notts from previous years. In such a good way, and Eve was beyond upset that they’d never thought to do it before. But then again, thats’ what it was like before the war. Party politics and social statuses and hierarchies enforced by parents that felt woefully unfair to their children. Because it was. 

As ex-Hogwarts students, Lee and Eve had recognised each other as kin - shared trauma will do that. That’s why she danced with him, and that’s why they had soon found themselves talking like they were old friends. Reminiscing on their student days, the pranks he played and the teachers she pissed off, their friends and the ridiculous antics of both. They’d never had classes together, Ravenclaw not often being paired with Gryffindor, something to do with not complementing each other well enough. It seemed odd, though, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. They were known for having their heads in the clouds and Evelynn, like her fellow Ravenclaws, had her head planted firmly in a textbook. Not quite as dreamy an image. 

Another laugh was spilling over her lips and she was wiping tears from her eyes. “No way! No! I refuse to believe that they really did that! You actually- you really helped Fred and George Weasley create an actual swamp outside of Umbridge’s office?” She cackled, the memory of that abhorrent woman and the image of her tiny face wrinkled up in displeasure felt cathartic as she found out that karma had gotten her in that moment, in at least a small way. The woman really did not like disorder. 

Lee was in the midst of his own laughter, his confidence bolstered and, encouraged, he replied “Yes, really! And - and this is perhaps the best bit of all - we managed to get Peeves on side to raise absolute Hell after the firework thing during exams, it was bloody brilliant, I’ve never seen so many tarantulas, and I was the one who let all those nifflers into her office that time.” He spoke with that look in his eye, both faraway reminiscing and present all at once, the combination of pride and humour bubbling up inside him as he thought back to the times he’d had with the Weasely twins. Things were different now, but he pushed that reminder back down before it could quash this moment. 

Eve was still laughing, the image of the nifflers and Umbridge’s absolute horror, and the infamous Weasley Twins and Lee Jordan all swirling around in her brain, the type of thing she’d had to learn to appreciate afterwards. Before, she was too serious, and now that it was all different she was only starting to realise how many magical, hysterical moments she’d missed out on laughing at, because she was - get this - worried about her future. If only she’d known. 

So now, sitting here with Lee Jordan and finally able to appreciate the actually hysterical anecdotes, and feeling a bit warm and giddy and like she was finally enjoying herself, she said “I’d like to meet them, your friends. They sound like a riot.” And that was that. Something shifted.

She couldn’t have known that Fred had died, that George hadn’t been the same, that Lee hadn’t fit with them quite as easily afterwards. He’d travelled, found a job as a newscaster for semi-pro Quidditch, and it hadn’t been easy to be there for his friend. But he’d had to get out, suffering losses of his own and mourning Fred just the same. He’d gone entirely sombre and the look on his face must have been enough to strike Eve like lightning, because she’d realised she’d done something completely dangerous. Assumed he hadn’t lost anyone in the war. Assumed his life had been left perfectly uncorrupted. But in the moment it had been so easy, the weight on their shoulders had lifted fractionally and she’d thought, well - she’d thought that Lee reminded her a bit of her brother, in how he spoke and the stories he told, and she’d wanted to meet his friends, like she would’ve met Nick’s, and the look of horror that crossed her face as she put it all together in her head was evident. 

“Lee, I am so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have assumed-“

“No it’s okay. It’s fine. Truly, uhm. Yeah. Well, I guess I could try and-“

“Oh no, don’t worry at all. It was silly to ask. I can’t just insert myself into people’s lives and make all of these assumptions!” Her eyes were wide and she scoffed, her own audacity surprising her. “I’m sorry. For your loss” she said gently, to soothe over the conversational faux pas. He’d talk about it if he’d like, and thank her kindly if he didn’t. To her surprise, he chose the former.

“Thanks, Eve. It’s been hard without Fred. George wasn’t the same, and I couldn’t stay to be there for him, and we were all dealing with our own shit. I haven’t heard from him in ages, but I think I might reach out, y’know, after bringing back all these memories. He’s a good bloke.” 

She recognised the guilt in his eyes, the one that spoke of regret for leaving, regret for trying to live a life after the war, regret for not being there for someone he dearly loved. She knew it well. She had run, too. From her brother’s death, from her own experiences, from her mother when she needed her most. It was a burden they shared, and it was far less shameful than they could accept, but survivor’s guilt will do that to a person. Eve had realised, six months into her life in France, that she needed to be home. On course to be a healer before the war, she was scared she couldn’t look death in the eye, not every day in St. Mungo’s where they’d asked her to complete an internship, working to heal Aurors and Cursebreakers, and one too many students caught up in the Battle. So home she came, and together her and her mother had picked up the pieces, turning their home into a boarding house for wizards in need of refuge, throwing balls and parties and brunches so people could gather and enjoy some time together, away from their daily lives. And here she was, considering returning to St. Mungo’s, 9 months later. She hoped they’d take her, realistically it hadn’t been a full year yet and the offers often stand for 12 months. She couldn’t run scared from death forever - maybe staring it down and tearing people from its clutches would be cathartic. Symbolic even. She didn’t know it then, that this meeting with Lee Jordan would change the course of her life. She hadn’t noticed at the time, just how much she needed to heal herself. But she was about to.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I don't really know what I'm doing. I wanted to write something and I've developed the biggest crush on George Weasley since like. Last week. And I missed writing, though I've never tried particularly hard at fiction. Basically, in lockdown I have gone mad, and I like to procrastinate. Third year at uni whomst? (please like, let me KNOW if you enjoy this. It was fun to write and I want to continue it, and I wan - desperately - for people to like it but god. I have no idea what im writing here)


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